The Letter
by shoppingal87
Summary: A short Bree fanfic, mostly friendship. It's hard to explain so you can read the author's note for more info!


**Author's Note: I know I'm not usually sure if I like the things I write, but I'm really unsure about this one. I got an e-mail about a contest on and the only rule was that you had to start the story with the sentence, "Hell had found me." But at the time I only skimmed the e-mail because I was on vacation, so I wrote this on the plane ride home, and then found out that it's supposed to be an original story, not fanfiction. So I changed the first sentence to make it in the present tense, skipped the contest (I missed the deadline anyway, and I think you had to be a member or something), and decided to post this on here. So let me know if it's any good. I hope you enjoy it; I'm not sure if I'm good at writing dramatic things, and I'm not so sure this is totally true to Bree's character- that's actually my biggest problem with it is that I'm not sure it's true to the character, but whatever! Anyway, on with the fic! **

_Lynette, Susan, and Gabrielle,_

_Hell has found me. I spent so much time worrying if my life appeared to be perfect that I didn't even see how imperfect it truly was. I hope by the end of this letter you'll understand why I'm about to do this. I'm being punished for my sins; I'm sure that's why this happened. I knew covering for Andrew was wrong before I even did it. But he's my son; what else was I supposed to do? I mean, he ran over a woman and fled the scene; he could've gone to jail. What kind of a mother would I be if I allowed my son to go to jail when there was a way to protect him? I'm sorry I never told you the truth, even when I saw the pain it caused Carlos, but I couldn't very well have anyone else find out. I guess part of me thought that things would get better between Andrew and I, the way it used to be when he was younger. Buy was I naïve. Nothing changed, it just got worse. Now my own son won't even speak to me. I know part of this hell is my own fault; I didn't mean to make Rex jealous by flirting with George. I wasn't even intentionally flirting, but perhaps I did lead him on. I just enjoyed having a conversation with a man who shared my cultural interests. I didn't imagine things would end up like this. I don't even have the energy to pretend that everything is okay anymore. That's why I rarely leave the house lately. On a good day I'll go to the grocery store or for a short walk, but not much else. I keep myself occupied with the housework, knitting, reading, and gardening. I'm lonely but I feel like I can't face anyone yet. You guys were great about stopping by just after Rex's death, but I refused to talk about it and pushed you away. So I don't blame you for giving up on me. I still get a weekly message from each of you inviting me to poker night and offering a shoulder to cry on, which is a sign that you all haven't completely given up on me. Sometimes I do go to poker to take my mind off of everything. We gossip about our neighbors and I tell myself that Rex is at home and the kids are waiting to share their day with me. It's like escaping reality, even if only for a few hours. I don't know what I'd do without your support right now, even if I don't always seem grateful for it. This began as a suicide note; my life seems lonely, empty, and meaningless. My daughter blames me for her father's death, my son hates me, my husband is gone, and I'm in terrible pain that I can't express. No one cares. No one except for you guys. As I sit here writing this letter, crying, staring at the bottle of vodka and jar of pills next to me, I realize I can't do this. I can't do what Mary Alice did to us. Besides, my children need someone, even if they don't appreciate me now. I realize that I need to live the rest of my life; I can't hide in the house forever. It'll take time, but I think I'll eventually be okay. The phone's ringing; I bet it's poker night. I think I'll give it a try this time. It won't be perfect, but it's better than sitting here alone. If any of you ever come across this mote, written in a moment of weakness, just know that I appreciate everything you're doing. Thank you. Your friendship might just have saved my life._

_Love, Bree_

Bree folded the letter in half, opened the desk drawer, and slid it to the back. She closed the drawer, got up slowly, and pushed in the desk chair. She went over to her closet to pick out an outfit, laid it carefully on the bed, then started on the stairs to call Lynette and find out her friends' plans for the evening.


End file.
